Three's a Crowd
by your.kat
Summary: FaFaberry. That's right, Fabray twins. But does Rachel know that? No, she really, REALLY doesn't. On hiatus indefinitely.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: As soon as I saw the first Fabray-twin/Rachel manip, this story popped into my head. I can't promise that it's going anywhere past this first chapter (no, really – no promises). I just know that it was in my head, and I had to write it down. I hope you enjoy._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Glee._

**Three's a Crowd**

Rachel hated being late. It was an intrinsic part of who she was. And when she found herself running late to her _first class of college_ in her _entire life_, she briefly lifted her eyes to the heavens and wondered who it was she had pissed off to deserve such a fate.

She was from a small town – Lima, Ohio, in fact – and she had always dreamed of making it to New York City someday. She had the voice of an angel (so she had been told) and the acting chops of a seasoned professional (so she had been told in her dreams). So when she found out that she was accepted into New York University (though it was no Julliard), she had celebrated a small victory. Getting _to_ New York City was like hopping (delicately so) over the first hurdle in her struggle to acquire Broadway acclaim. She could deal with NYU for a few semesters until she caught her break.

But until she caught her break, she had to attend classes (to which she was currently running late). See, Rachel liked to think that her extensive research into the layout of campus and the locations of her classes would have been sufficient to get her _where_ she needed to be _when_ she needed to be there. But she had grossly miscalculated her navigational skills and was thus _indescribably_ pushed to make it to her 8:30 AM class on that Monday morning – _Principles of Microeconomics_.

Does that sound like a blow-off frosh class? That's because it is. But Rachel Berry does _not_ blow off classes, even the blow-off classes.

Some higher cosmic power was with Rachel as she slammed open the heavy wooden door (which thudded _loudly_ against the concrete wall behind it) and careened to a stop at the top of the steep auditorium seating _just _as the teacher began his introduction. She took a moment to smooth out her (short) skirt and begin slowly descending the steps; her eyes scanned from side to side as she went, nervously seeking out a _single_ empty seat. A _single seat_, for goodness' sake. And yet, Rachel found herself at the absolute _bottom_ of the auditorium – the _front row_ – before she found a place to sit.

Awkwardly stepping in front of a few people and taking a seat in the _only_ empty chair available, Rachel (again) smoothed her skirt against the back of her thighs as she took a seat. Her ankles were crossed as she pulled out a notebook and pen and began taking notes.

It soon became apparent to Rachel that everything she was writing down was completely trivial, but she continued to write anyway – it was best to be prepared, after all. Even if _microeconomics_ was simply a general education requirement to fulfill her degree, Rachel was going to pay attention and learn whatever she could. Maybe it would be of some assistance to her someday when she was trying to choose between _this _manager and _that_ manager.

It was several minutes into the class – in fact, the class was almost entirely over – when Rachel noticed **her**.

A girl with her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, a girl who has diligently taking notes even as Rachel began to ignore her own note-taking duties. Rachel watched her, balancing her own pen against her bottom lip. And the girl with stunningly blonde hair and incredibly strong (yet delicate) facial features seemed to stare down at her paper for the majority of the lesson; she only glanced up towards the teacher a couple of times in the fitful (for Rachel) fifty minutes of the class period. Rachel watched as the person next to the blonde leaned over and asked her a question; the blonde smiled sweetly with every facial feature she possessed before tearing a page out of her notebook and passing it to her neighbor.

Rachel glanced at her phone and noted that it was time for the class to be over. Apparently, most of the other students had taken the same interest (or lack thereof) in the professor's lecture as they began to pack their bags; some even began to leave their seats and walk out of the heavy wooden doors at the back of the classroom as the fifty-minute time period expired and the professor's monotonous voice continued to drone on incessantly.

Rachel – having less experience than the average college student – simply followed suit. But her eyes were astutely locked onto the blonde's retreating figure as she climbed the stairs several feet ahead of Rachel, and it was (naturally) completely against Rachel's will when she took in every detail her eyes could capture. The bouncing ponytail and the tightly worn top were of no consequence to Rachel, nor were the form-fitting jeans on her long legs. Of course, Rachel wasn't meant to notice such things – she was merely observing the actions of a person whom she had unwittingly been drawn to in those few moments of quiet observation during the lecture. So the blonde girl walked out of the auditorium in complete unawareness of the brunette who had been attempting to watch her retreating figure with _stunning _clarity and precision; Rachel, who had been watching her with the careful eye of an artist. The blonde walked away entirely oblivious of the attention she had garnered.

'_Wow,_' Rachel thought as her head hit her pillow and she prepared to fall asleep that night on the semi-comfortable mattress in her 4-person on-campus apartment. '_Maybe there is something here in NYC worth paying attention to other than the bright lights of Broadway…_' And then sleep had finally managed to overtake her in the comfortable silence afforded to those who couldn't care less about what was happening in the night atmosphere around them.

And when she woke, Rachel was mentally prepared for her second day of classes.

At least, Rachel _thought _she was prepared – until she ran into her music history class (with just a _touch_ of lateness). She looked at the clock on the face of her cell phone to note that she had _just_ missed being _late_ to the class – so when she walked in and took a seat near the middle of the room, she assumed she would be able to make it through the entire one and a half hour class period of _Music History_ with little to no interruption whatsoever. Fate was on her side this morning after all, it seemed.

But then Rachel saw **her**, and she was immediately proven wrong. Apparently, Rachel was fated to be eternally distracted.

It was the same girl from yesterday – but instead of a tight ponytail and clean cut outfit, the girl was wearing her hair in light, flowing waves down her shoulders with a loose fitting dress and boots. As Rachel watched (completely ignoring whatever note-taking she should have been partaking in at this point), the girl tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and bit her lip between her teeth as if it were only natural as she watched the professor pace the floor in front of them, outlining the syllabus. She drummed her fingers against her notebook, pencil lying to the side, forgotten. _She's so different from when I saw her yesterday_, Rachel wondered to herself as her head tilted slightly to the side in curious contemplation.

Because, truly, this was the same girl with whom Rachel had shared her microeconomics course; she didn't doubt it for a second. Sure, the girl's hair and her attire were different; even her mannerisms appeared to be slightly altered from the previous day – but Rachel admitted to herself that she had only observed the blonde on Monday for a few moments, and those few moments were hardly long enough to draw a conclusion about the person who was now sharing _this_ class with her.

Perhaps this girl was like Rachel herself – trying out different personas much like Rachel had in high school, trying to find herself and her comfort zone and the like. Rachel mused that it _would_ make sense, after all. New York City seemed like a more than ideal location to _reinvent _oneself. That must be it. The girl was a novel and not just a short work of non-fiction – a book to be read and numerous pages to be discovered.

It wasn't fair to classify this girl whom Rachel had now seen on two _very_ different days in two _very _different classes with two _very _different sets of mannerisms and clothes under a single given stereotype when Rachel was _so_ confused herself – was this a girl with diligent note-taking habits and the sweetest smile Rachel had ever seen? Or was this a girl with bohemian style and wandering eyes? It seemed incomprehensible that this girl's different personas could coexist in the same universe. And there was something intriguing about that for Rachel.

And above and beyond everything else, there had been a sparkle in the other girl's eyes; Rachel had seen it yesterday when the blonde had turned and smiled that heart-stopping smile at her neighbor, and Rachel saw it now as the professor told a horrendously awful joke and the blonde's shoulders shook slightly as she laughed and smiled _that_ smile. Rachel found herself smiling across the mass of bodies and chairs and desks between herself and the blonde, and she knew in that moment that she simply could not find it within herself to ignore her curiosity concerning this mystery of a girl.

That night, Rachel fell again into her bed. She was utterly exhausted. She had been held back after her music theory class for speaking out of turn (repeatedly). But the graduate student teaching the class had been _wrong_ (repeatedly), and Rachel had felt that it would have been a great travesty and an injustice to her fellow students if she hadn't spoken up. So she had. And her teacher had talked to her after class so long about _respect_ and _authority figures_ that Rachel had nearly been late to her private vocal lesson.

A light knock on her bedroom door startled Rachel. Her eyes flew open and she sat up in bed. "Come in," she called out.

"Rachel?" One of Rachel's roommates – a tall, blonde dancer named Brittany – cracked the door open and stuck her head inside. "Tina and I were going to watch a movie, are you interested in joining us?" Rachel lifted an eyebrow thoughtfully, but before she could answer, Brittany continued. "There will be popcorn involved!"

Rachel laughed. "You almost had me with the popcorn, but I'll pass. I'm exhausted, and I really just think I'm gonna go to bed."

"Alright," Brittany replied. "If you change your mind, you know where to find us."

The girl shut the door, and Rachel fell back on her pillows. A light shone in through the window from outside, casting pale shadows against the opposite wall through her curtains. The sounds of the city outside her window began to lull Rachel into a peaceful sleep.

And as Rachel fell asleep, her thoughts swirled tempestuously with blonde hair and beautiful smiles; and Rachel knew that if she would accomplish _nothing _else that semester, she _would_ befriend the mysterious girl with the sparkling eyes…


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I've decided that this story is all about the parentheses._

_Also, this is not quality. Fair warning._

**Three's a Crowd**

By the time Friday evening (three weeks later) rolled around, Rachel had not only been mildly unsuccessful at initiating even the slightest interaction with the mysterious girl in her classes, she had failed spectacularly at even moving to a seat closer to the blonde.

As she walked into her bedroom, she tossed her faux-leather bag down on the ground where it landed against one of the legs of her desk chair. Then she plopped down on her bed unceremoniously, rolling over and sighing dramatically in the direction of the ceiling. A few moments passed - in which she contemplated her sudden, inexplicable lack of a spine - before she sighed again. Because she was Rachel Barbra Berry (once her middle-name name change went through), and she could be as dramatic as she pleased, thank you very much.

A knock resounded against the door in that _rap, rap-rap-rap, rap, rap rap _tune that everyone in the entire world knew for some reason. Rachel didn't even bother propping herself up on her elbows as she called out, "Come in." The knock was Brittany's, and the girl never hesitated before stepping inside at the end of her knock - something a naked Rachel had learned all too well just a couple mornings before (though Brittany hadn't appeared embarrassed or apologetic at all, instead launching into a description of the awesome park a couple of blocks over and how there were, like, _so_ many adorable ducks there).

"So Rach," Brittany began as she waltzed into the room (literally, she waltzed inside). "Tina and I have decided that we're not letting you get out of movie night tonight!" Rachel let out another of her patented Dramatic Sighs and held her hand up in the air, prepared to offer a counter argument to the girl who was spinning in the middle of her floor. Pirouette, pirouette, pirouette. Suddenly (and oh-so-gracefully), Brittany stopped doing ballet spins in the middle of Rachel's bedroom. Rachel didn't even have time to squeak before the blonde literally pounced on her, pinning her wrists down on the soft comforter. Sitting atop Rachel's hips, Brittany yelled, "No, Rach! You're coming into the living room. Right. Now."

And then Rachel _did _squeak. Because Brittany had hopped off of the bed and easily lifted the petite girl into her arms. Rachel had no choice but to wrap her arms around Brittany instinctively to keep her ass from connecting with the hard surface of her floor. As Brittany edged them sideways through Rachel's bedroom door, Rachel huffed. "Brittany," she said indignantly, still with her arms wrapped around Brittany's neck, "sit me down this instant."

"Nope," Brittany responded.

Rachel crossed her legs from her perch in the strong girl's arms. She huffed once more. "Brittany, this is completely uncalled for. I have... I have homework and such!"

"Yeah well, it's Friday. We'll have a study session Sunday afternoon or something. Don't worry so much!"

Rachel arched her well-manicured eyebrows at Brittany's statement, tilting her head to the side. Silently, she finally allowed herself to acquiesce. Brittany had proven to be a fabulous study partner over the past couple of weeks anyway.

Tina was already sitting on the hard, lumpy, uncomfortable couch that was supplied by the university's housing department when Brittany gently lowered Rachel onto one of the cushions. Somewhere between her bedroom and the living room, Rachel's thoughts of the hazel-eyed, blonde goddess had shifted back into the recesses of her mind. She would enjoy this weekend, and that was that. Whatever would come on Monday would come, and she would deal with it then. Maybe she could culture that missing spine sometime over the weekend...

"Hey girl," Tina said with a sweet smile at Rachel's arrival.

Rachel returned the smile, and it was easy - despite the fact that she normally avoided movie night like the plague (for some reason that she now could not remember to save her life). "Hi Tina," she replied. "How was your week?"

Tina's smile grew, and she was off, "Oh, it was great! This one kid in my class was carrying around this giant - and I mean _giant_ - fake sledgehammer thing as part of some Greek initiation and at the beginning of class he -"

And so Tina continued for quite some time. As Rachel laughed at Tina's stories and Brittany's antics of acting out said stories, she began to wonder more and more why she hadn't reached out to her roommates earlier.

Well, she knew exactly why she hadn't reached out to their _fourth_ roommate. But that was another story entirely.

Two movies down - _The Notebook _and _A Walk to Remember_ (because it was a Nicholas Sparks night, so there) - and the three girls had blissfully consumed multiple bags of popcorn. They were sitting side by side on the couch, each with their legs stretched out in front of them, resting on the edge of the coffee table. Rachel sat in the middle, and her ankles barely managed to reach across the expanse between couch and table - but she had long ago become accustomed to her short stature.

Tina picked up the box of Kleenexes, grabbed one, and passed the box down the couch. Each girl grabbed a tissue, dabbing at eyes and sniffling dramatically (in Rachel's case).

It was just nearing midnight when a key scraping against the apartment door's lock resounded in the quiet space filled only with sounds of sniffles and hiccupping (in Tina's case).

Enter roommate number four.

"Yeah yeah," she said into her cell phone that was pressed against her ear, gesturing into the air in front of her. "Tell her that I had a good time, but I'm not down for that clingy shit." A pause. "Seriously, Adam, _tell her_. Because I will not deal with another stage five clinger." Another pause. "Bitch, _please_. If Jessica wasn't stage five, she was well on her way! Alright, I gotta go." Pause. "Yeah, you too." Click.

Grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge, the newcomer turned to the living room and the girls who were sitting on the couch (with their heads swiveled in her direction). "Sup, bitches?" she greeted.

Rachel rolled her eyes. Tina chuckled awkwardly. Brittany blinked.

"That's not exactly a term of endearment, Santana." Brittany's voice was firm and smooth, but it was also quiet. Rachel glanced briefly in her direction before shifting her gaze back to Santana, marveling at the poise the blonde possessed.

Santana strutted (there was no other word for it, really) across the room and leaned one hip against the edge of the couch. "I'm sorry, blondie," she purred (again, no other word for it). "Just give me a list of things I can call you, and I promise not to deviate."

"You can start by calling me _Brittany_. And this is Rachel, and this is Tina. Not _bitches_, not _dwarf_, not _Asian_. Not anything degrading or stereotypical or hurtful." Brittany pulled herself up, standing in front of Santana and momentarily looking down at her. "Just our names," her tone shifted again, and it was calm and soothing. "Ok?"

Santana licked her lips. Rachel was certain that the feisty Latina was _not_ used to being told what to do. But Rachel had seen the looks she sent Brittany's way - looks of curiosity and sometimes longing - when she thought no one was looking. Some weekend nights (and weekday nights as well) Santana would walk inside their apartment totally smashed. She would grab a bottle of water, and she would stare. Those times, everyone noticed it. But Brittany would mostly ignore it, hopping up and grabbing Santana's wrist, helping her into the bathroom that they shared and getting her ready for bed. Even across the apartment in Rachel's bedroom, she could hear Santana's protests to being helped. But Brittany always got the job done, safely tucking Santana away into her bed - or at least, Rachel assumed so, since the Latina would be alive and well the next morning and not some hot mess in the hallway.

Finally, she answered. "Ok." And her eyes never left Brittany's.

Brittany smiled serenely before wishing them all a good night and skipping (literally) off to bed. Santana's eyes hungrily lingered on the spot where the lithe dancer's figure had disappeared around the corner. Finally, she shook herself out of her Brittany-induced haze long enough to send a glare in Rachel and Tina's direction (because, well, they _had_ been staring at her). "_What?_" she hissed. Tina shook her head frantically while Rachel just rolled her eyes again. "Whatever," Santana mumbled. "Night."

"Night," Tina piped up as Santana disappeared around the corner as well.

"Good night, Tina," Rachel said as she turned off the TV and went to brush her teeth.

An hour later - now in her pajamas with her lights off and her sound synthesizer on - Rachel found herself again staring in the general direction of her ceiling. She had been told in her dreams that she was a star, but she had never really dreamt of...that special someone. The way Santana stared at Brittany (and despite her teenage boy antics) stirred something straight down to Rachel's core. A part of her wanted to know what it felt like to be _looked at_ like that.

Because Rachel knew exactly what it was like to be the one looking. She had been doing it for a few weeks now.

But Rachel also wanted to do more than _just_ look. She wanted to act. She wanted to be suave and debonair and charming (even if all of those words basically meant the same thing).

Rachel wanted to meet the blonde-haired beauty who had been inadvertently threatening Rachel's microeconomics and music history grades. Rachel wanted to talk to her and learn something about her. Rachel wanted to sit next to her and ask to borrow a piece of paper when she (totally accidentally) forgot her notebook. Rachel wanted to compliment the other girl on her dress or her shoes or her marvelously strong chin.

Rachel wanted a lot of things.

And, dammit, it was time she did something about it.

* * *

><p>Monday morning, Rachel put her meticulous timing (that she had worked out Sunday evening) to the test. The key was to arrive <em>just on time<em> - she couldn't be too early, and she couldn't be too late. She needed seats to fill up, but she also needed one seat in particular to remain open.

With two minutes left until _Principles of Microeconomics_ was set to begin, Rachel made her move.

As she walked down the steps on the right side of the auditorium, Rachel resisted the urge to cheer. Because she could see the tight, perfect blonde ponytail that she had become accustomed to staring at for large portions of time every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. And, best of all, there were seats open on the girl's right _and_ left! Rachel made it all the way down to the front row (why did people _choose_ to sit on the front row?) before turning and approaching the empty seats.

_Oh no_, Rachel thought, suddenly panicked. _Right or left, right or left, right or left_. At the last minute, Rachel decided to sit on the girl's right-hand side (because the mysterious blonde was right-handed, and if Rachel leaned to her left a bit, perhaps their arms would have a better opportunity to brush against each other).

"Hi," Rachel said as she sat down (yes, she planned that one out for several hours). She smiled at the blonde as she took her seat, pulling out her notebook (she hadn't wanted to put all of her eggs in one basket) and smoothing out her skirt. Rachel quickly diverted her eyes back down to her notebook, eager to not appear, well, _eager_.

"Hi," the blonde replied with a light, airy chuckle in her voice. Immediately, Rachel wondered exactly how ridiculous she had appeared to the other girl. Regardless, she glanced up momentarily, smiling lightly at the girl who was (in Rachel's mind) now a little less of a stranger.

The class concluded after fifty minutes of shockingly intense (for Rachel) brushes of arms and corner-of-eye glances. When the blonde started to pack up her things, Rachel mentally gave herself a swift kick in the ass and opened her mouth to ask, "Have you started studying for Friday's test yet?"

When the blonde turned startlingly bright hazel eyes on her, Rachel fleetingly forgot how to breathe. She sat stock still as the other girl seemed to examine her very soul through the connection of their eyes. A few seconds passed, and Rachel started breathing again (out of necessity). "No, I haven't started studying yet. Have you?"

She was shouldering her bag, and Rachel quickly moved to follow her example. They turned and began walking up the stairs together. "No," Rachel giggled, "I haven't either." The blonde smiled in Rachel's direction. "Would you be interested in studying together?"

Rachel held her breath. They didn't even know each other. She still didn't know the girl's name! She just knew that the chiseled facial features and the polo shirt with the top three buttons unbuttoned and the tight (_tiiight_) dark blue jeans were completely clouding her senses and, in all likelihood, her better judgment. But then the gorgeous blonde opened her lips and she said, "Sure," and Rachel died.

"Great!" she exclaimed. Immediately, she tried to downplay her enthusiasm. "Here's my phone number," she said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a post-it note, quickly scribbling down her number with her purple pen and handing it to the blonde. _RACHEL_ was written at the top of the page in loopy, capital letters.

"Rachel," the girl said.

Rachel nodded. "Yep, that's me." She internally cringed and arched an eyebrow at herself and how goofy she sounded.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Quinn, by the way." Rachel's eyes widened completely of their own volition as she stared at the girl - _Quinn_ - with a newfound appreciation. There was something even more intoxicating about the situation now that she had a name to go with the face. "But I have to run to my next class, I'll text you about meeting up to study before Friday."

"Great," Rachel said, now standing in the hallway just outside of the auditorium. Quinn turned to walk away and was halfway down the hall before Rachel continued. "Thanks. Yeah. Text. Bye, Quinn."

And Rachel stood there with a ridiculous smile on her face just long enough to see Quinn stop, turning to stare back in Rachel's direction for a moment with a sweet smile on her lips, before disappearing around the corner.

* * *

><p>Tuesday morning came, and Rachel was not yet letting herself despair over the fact that Quinn hadn't texted her.<p>

There was always _Music History_ in which to sit next to the blonde and further explore feelings - err... common interests.

Again, Rachel employed her waiting-until-the-almost-last-minute tactic to snare a seat next to the blonde. This time, Rachel ended up on Quinn's left. "Hi," she said brightly, pulling out her notebook (it still wasn't quite time to play the oh-silly-me-I-forgot-my-notebook-could-I-borrow-a-piece-of-paper card). She was thankful that the blonde had chosen a seat closer to the back in this class. The front row was mildly uncomfortable.

The blonde - whose hair was down in long, flowing waves today - turned and eyed Rachel with a curious expression on her face. "Good morning," she replied, and Rachel felt a tingle creep down her spine. The blonde's voice was lovely - husky and low and full of emotions that Rachel wanted to explore.

The class began, and time passed slowly. While Quinn yesterday had attentively taken notes throughout their economics lecture, Quinn today tapped her pencil on her notebook more than she actually wrote with it. Rachel tried to inconspicuously observe the blonde (and her low-cut blue dress and white cardigan), but she was terribly unsuccessful. The blonde caught her looking and, instead of turning away, flicked her eyes up and down Rachel's own form, mimicking Rachel's gaze.

Rachel blushed.

A couple of minutes later, the blonde leaned over. "This is the most boring of all of my classes. This professor should have retired years ago."

Rachel suppressed a giggle behind tightly sealed lips. "You're right," she finally managed to utter, "but I would take this over economics any day."

The other girl smiled. "I guess I'd have to agree with you on that one."

As the class ended, Rachel slid her notebook in her bag. Much like the previous day, the two girls stood and began to leave the classroom together. As they exited the door, the other girl placed a hand on Rachel's shoulder, stopping her. "Here," she said, pulling a pen out of her bag and grasping Rachel's hand. She quickly jotted down ten numbers on Rachel's skin. "Do you like coffee?" Rachel nodded. "Great. Give me a call sometime, and maybe we can get some together, yeah?"

Again, Rachel nodded. "That sounds lovely." Rachel totally ignored the fact that they were supposed to be studying within the next couple of days for economics anyway. Maybe Quinn was planning on studying at a Starbucks or something.

"I'm sorry, I didn't ever catch your name..." the girl trailed off. Rachel immediately forgave the blonde for forgetting her name from the day previous.

"It's Rachel," she replied. "Rachel Berry."

The blonde smiled, and Rachel swooned. If she didn't have such fabulous legs, she might have fallen to the floor in a puddle. "Rachel Berry. Cute name. You can call me Charlie."

This time when Rachel was left standing in place like an infatuated statue, Charlie didn't look back as she rounded the corner. But Rachel's smile was just as ridiculous and long-lasting as the day previous.

And the girl who had first seemed to be a riddle Rachel was curious to solve had, over the course of a mere forty-eight hours, transformed into a completely and utterly stupefying conundrum.


End file.
